Who will step up?

An off-color display away to Bolton and a lacklustre performance at Valencia have meant that United go into this weekend's headed at The Stadium of Light, still not in full flow. There's a semblance of respectability to the week that could so easily have gone horribly wrong but for moments of sheer predatorial instinct by Michael Owen and Javier Hernandez. But is it enough steam to spruce up the team ahead of a potential banana skin against Steve Bruce's men?
Form apart, injuries to key personnel are threatening to derail a wobbly season yet again. We still haven't reached last season' lunatic levels but losing Rooney, Giggs, Scholes and Valencia is bad enough. While the injury to Wazza is a welcome relief since it gives him time to go away and get his head straight, the same can't be said about the others. The midfield's display against Scunthorpe and Valencia in the absence of Scholes show what we'll be missing from the next season once He retires. Fletcher' while industrious, seems lost without a creative midfielder around him to pull the strings upfield. And he still hasn't hit top form yet this season. To make things worse, he's already started 2 matches this week, a third might be too much to ask. Carrick and Anderson are just back from injury and giving them two starts in 4 days is a risk, considering the schedule for the next few months. Scholes is out for a week, minimum. This leaves Sir Alex with just Darron Gibson who is a certainty for one of the 2/3 midfield slots. Keeping in mind Gibson's limited distribution skills, Ando is ruled out to partner him. Will Sir Alex spring a surprise like the last time against the Black Cats at home (Danny Welbeck on the left wing)? Magnus Eikrem and Corry Evans certainly merit a callup on the back of a solid start to the reserves' season and it will be interesting to see how to shape up. Or maybe, just maybe, is Owen Hargreaves fit enough to make the bench?
On the wings, it's even worse. Giggs is out for a fortnight and Valencia is... well, out :'( Nani's played every minute of the matches against Bolton and Valencia and due for a break. And Park has been woeful this season. But fair play to the lad, standing up and taking responsibility. Maybe Sir Alex will give him a start just to help hm get his confidence back. The international break is no reason to play the fatigued legs of Nani and Fletcher since they will be in aciton in Euro qualifiers. If indeed Park gets the nod at left wing, who plays right? Has the Portuguese matured enough to give three top notch performance in a week? If not him then Gabby obertan will pounce on a start. Bebe makes a case for himself, but the bench is the closest he is getting to first team action this year. Rafael might be a good option but I guess it's too early in the season for Sir Alex presses that red button. A three man central mid field of Gibson, Park and Fletcher/Carrick behind a three man strike force might just pass muster looking at the glut of options up front.
Up front is where the relief arrives. Yes, Rooney is out but that (though hard to believe considering his 34 last season) is OK, looking at the alternatives. Berbatov will be the string puller ahead of a three man mid field. And I would prefer Macheda mining up next to Owen or Javi. All three have a point to prove. Macheda's been superb with his intelligence and link up play every time he's come on. His pass to Javi for the winner at Valencia was a gem. He should start in absence of Wazza. Owen after a spell on the sidelines and Javi after his clean-as-a-whistle strike at the Mestalla will both make a pressing case for a start. More than Macheda perhaps. But starting with both will mean, palying with 9 men trying to get last ball to 2 men. Waste of a player, IMO. But atleast, we have some options here.
The defence looks stable but doesn't exactly pick itself. Rafael was good without being spectacular against Valencia. He should start. Vidic with 2 starts in the week, and Rio with 90 minutes three days ago, need a break though we can ill afford it. Darren Bent's form calls for one or both of them to be lining up in defence but I can see Evans edging Rio just as a precaution. Depending on how lightly Sir Alex is going to take the Balck Cat's potence up front, Wes Brown and Chris Smalling might get a look in, to releive Vidic. I don't see it happening though.
Evra was, for the first time in 2 years, less than spectacular in the mid week. But he was REALLY less than spectacular. Pablo Hernandez ghosted past him enough times to make a strong case for a chant of 'Fergie Fergie Sign Him Up'. But that apart, perhaps the French captain needs a breather. Fabio has stepped up quite well when called up.
Injury to ex-Red Devil, Fraizer Campbell and Danny Welbeck's loan clause mean that Steve Bruce is down to two strikers for the header. Maybe a 4-5-1 will make Fergie rest both Rio n Vida.
It promises to be an intriguing weekend.
Wish list:
Regulation win at Sunderland.
Arsenal emulate City and stop the Blue war machine
And just for kicks, Newcastle beat City, Andy Carroll nets a few and Fabio calls him up.

Errr....

The breeze was like a raging stream, flooding through the narrow, snaky streets of Poitiers. The 10 degree C wind with nigh a touch of moisture hit his already dry and parched face like a block of dry ice. Winter was setting in. And it would get progressively worse. Till it reached a point where the French, enjoying a 'bright day' all around him, would fire up the heaters, down the shutters, and disappear into hibernation. He remembered the previous morning and laughed to himself at what lay in store. Waiting in front of class, he had been greeted by the Professor. "Ca va?" Teeth chattering and his whole body shivering like a leaf, he had managed to say something that sounded like "Bit… col.. outhere". The man's you-ain't-seen-nothing-yet smile  spoke for him.

But strangely, his reaction to the temperature dropping to a single digit was decidedly different from the last couple of days when it had dilly dallied between ten and fifteen. There was no jacket today. The shivering was absent from his gait and the relaxed jaw showed no signs of chattering. He seemed just as impervious to it as the other street dwellers were. What was it about the 30th of September that was drowning out the effect of an alien climate?

His school was half way around the block. His mind, was halfway around the World. A billion people, two of the oldest cultures in the World, with the most complicated and difficult of pasts between them and the land that's seen it and borne it all for centuries, stood still and waited with bated breath. 6 centuries after the first brick was placed, 60 years after the first idol was placed, 18 years after the multicultural fabric was ripped apart beyond repair, India awaits. It would be settled today. Would it be settled today? No, lemme rephrase it. Would it be settled today? If so, then would it be settled today? Digging up Ayodhya is done. Now the grave digging begins.

He paused for a second. Was that what was making him impervious to the cold? The anxiety of what was happening back home? Fear of what was to be unleashed on his country? The 'yes' from his mouth was drowned by the 'no' from his mind.

"Of course I care!"

"Yeah right. Pull the other leg, Naldo!"

Much as he wanted to believe otherwise, much as he tried to bring up instances to prove otherwise, in spite of all the patriotic hormones that he tried generating, he knew it was a losing battle. Somewhere in him, with roots deep enough survive the storm of 30/9 was the undeniable fact. That he didn't care. At least, not enough to be oblivious to what was happening around him.

He walked into the school, relishing the warm atmosphere. Though he hadn't felt much outside, this was where he wanted to be. His mind strayed from the dimly lit corridors of the school to the muddy, unpaved streets of Ayodhya that he had never seen.

"Salut!", he turned to see the face he had seen enough times to remember in class.

"Salu……" , as it turned out, not enough times to remember her name. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm good. How are you? Nice party last night?"

"I wasn't there. I saw the mail from the organizers… guess I'm too old for that stuff! "

She laughed, betraying the mockery ill-concealed beneath the humor. Well, one couldn't really argue that he didn't deserve it.

"Er… I read something on the internet yesterday. Some mosque judgment today in India?"

Sigh! "Yeah. Big day back home. Lotta security, communal tension and all that stuff. It's gonna be out in a few hours.Kinda nervous about the whole thing"

"What is it all about?"

He had tried many times and failed to imitate the French way of doing "poof!", the reaction that you get when you ask them something complicated. This time, he nailed it. "It's… kinda complicated. Six centuries old story."

His hunch about what that kind of a party does to people's heads was vindicated when she, with a look not unlike the perennial 'spark' on Paris Hilton's face said "Tell me tell me!"

"OK, I'll give you an analogy first."

"An anal….?", her eyes popped ever so little but that was enough.

"No no! It's not… that. Analogy means… er… something similar. An example."

"Ah. Yeah. Example. " The Hiltonian expression returns.

What example can I give? He thought. Ofcourse! When in doubt, talk football! "OK, imagine that England and France are one country."

"Oui"

"Now, Bobby Charlton, British legend. Thierry Henry. French legend. Remember, both of them belong to the same country now. Imagine that an asteroid struck the Earth after Charlton retired and all records of his achievements are lost. The new generation just knows that a legendary player called Charlton existed and played for Britance. A new stadium is built in Normandy and they name it Bobby Charlton Arena. Thierry Henry hits the World stage and becomes the legend that he is. And retires eventually. His followers decide that Charlton is just a myth ('cos there's no proof of his existence) and rename the stadium in Normandy, Thierry Henry Arena. Centuries pass. Bobby Charlton and Thierry Henry are long dead after unforgettable careers and fulfilling lives. One fine day, Charlton's followers put his pictures on the emblem  of Thierry Henry Arena. Both parties clash. Thousands die. The stadium is shut down. Decades later, Charlton's followers destroy the stadium's Henry emblem, with an intent to put a new Charlton emblem on it. Both parties clash, thousands die. Things can never, ever, be the same between the two sides again. And today, the court in Normandy is going to decide whose face will decorate the emblem and whose name will grace the stadium. And whatever they decide, both sides will clash. And thousands will die.'

The Hilton look was gone but… that's all one could've said about the look on her face. "And?"

"And that's it! In a nut shell."

"But… it's just a game. And a name!"

Was it?? "I wish it were that simple. The side that loses, loses face. They'll feel humiliated."

"So why can't they have two stadia?"

"One next to the other? They'll kill each other in half a day."

"OK then... have the other at some other place!"
"Can't do that. Henry and Charlton were both born in Normandy. It has to be there."

"Er… so what are they gonna do about it?"

He shrugged. A billion people waited for the answer. "What would you do?"

"Er…" The 'rrrrr' has lasted for 60 years. Does it end today?

A Bit More Of The Same Lunacy

OK this is ONLY 'cos I felt guilty about not having posted anything in a long time. A thorough search of the Recluse' archives threw up...
This. Here goes...

stupid observation i made long ago
long long ago in a diary on the go
to prop up morale ever so low
and pour it all out in a flow

and in a rickety ride n amidst the clouds,
in a seedy lodge n swaying moods
I dragged my mind out of the woods
With nigh more than words

Of a time when the clouds chilled my head
and pages and pages of Sparks I read
and thoughts of lunacy, in my head I bred
From one to another, thoughts led

Oh boy! was I a fool!

Empress

Finally it took a moralising monologue from Lord Emsworth to drag Empress back onto her breezy path from her road to revolutionary reconfiguration of the pen.
Oh how he liked the look of unbridled joy on her face as she revelled in the attention showered on her by Snowball and Napoleon. Their hefty human master and his bumbling, babbling bunch of assistants vanquished from their farm and power finally in the hands of the animals led by snowball and napoleon, the grass was finally green as ever; And the apples, red and juicy like never before. The new era was here.
Alas, the wily humans found a trap door. As one of them said, "Well odysseus, you found a way to make the lambs invite the wolves for dinner". And dine, did the humans. The apples shrank, the grass turned dry, the animals found their portions halved. Poor heathens, ran, they did, to Empress. "Help!", the cried. "We want more!", they chorused. "Men!", they seethed. And nay a moment of rest did Empress savour. Nigh impossible did she find it to stroll by the lake, let her hair loose in the breeze and converse with her consort. "Ouch! There's a nail in my shoe! The clouds are turning grey! What am I gonna do? And the Sun's going down too!"
In the pouring rain and the slippery mud, she traipsed back to the pen, desolate, lonely and desperate for that long lost melancholy. And there, in the pouring rain and slippery mud, amidst the clueless and the carelss, did Lord Emsworth find Empress. In need of nigh more than a look of love, nigh more than a semblance of care. And down he swooped on his companion of long. For, with Empress he dined and with Empress, he kept his woes in bind. And to Empress, he would show the merry land.
Hence, he set upon his street of salvation to drag Empress by the scruff of it's neck barely recognizable from it's face and trunk to it's long forgotten breezy, carefree path. And, munching on the generous bits of mulberry Lord Elmsworth spoilt her with, happily she lived ever after. Animal welfare.

Harry Red-Champ!

Finally!! A dozen transfers, five seasons of heart break after heartbreak, replays, controversies, and three different managers later, Spurs, mercifully, make the cut for the Champions League. Peter Crouch's 50 million pound goal will be remembered by White Hart Lane faithful for ages to come. It propels Spurs to the Champions League Playoffs for the first time since 1962 and probably even the main draw if they win and Fulham beat Arsenal on the last day of the season. While the third place finish seems like a pie in the sky, nothing about this season or Arsenal and Fulham's form has suggested that an upset is not on cards. What the hell, it wouldn't even be an upset considereing Fulham's European fairy tale run and Your's Truly competing with Lukasz Fabianski and David Seaman for the coveted spot between the sticks. But irrespective of what happens on Sunday, Spurs can look back at an incredible 20 months. Looking at where they were in the table October before last, if someone had told me that Spurs will be fighting for something this day, I would'v been justified in thinking they would be fighting with Newcastle United and West Brom Albion for a direct ticket up from the Fizz Pop league. That they had an outside chance of qualifying for Europa League last season and that they've displaced Liverpool from the 'Big Four' this season is testament to the work that Harry Redknapp has put in. Spurs had two points from eight games and were rock bottom in the table when he took over from Juande Ramos (Remember him? He's at Real Madrid now. No wait, that was 10 months ago. It's CSKA Moscow now. Shit, no! That was eight months and 2 weeks ago. Hmmmm, where is he ow by the way?) To propel them from those lows to a fourth place finish within in a season and a half... it's been a phenomenal jorney for the tactician.

Just how badly Spurs wanted to break into the top four and qualify for the Champions league is highlighted by the sum spent on transfers. Since July 2008, the list of players who have joined Spurs is long and reads something like this: Jermain Defoe, Roman Pavlyuchenko, Peter Crouch, Wilson Palacios, Luka Modric, David Bentley, Sebastian Bassong, Gareth Bale, Heurelho Gomes, Niko Krajcar, Robbie Keane (out, in, out again), Benoit Assou-Ekotto, Geovani Dos Santos, Eidur Gudjonsson, Alan Hutton... phew! It's an incredible accumulation of pace, flair, solodity and creativity. And it's an expensive accumulation at that; not more than a couple of them were acquired for less than eight figures.

The transfers apart, just the motive behind some of the transfers have shown how desperate Spurs were for European football. Manchester United's entire defensive line save Patrice Evra was wiped out for a month and their response was to play Darren Fletcher and Michael Carrick as centre backs apart from relying on youngsters Ritchie De Laet and Oliver Gill. Compare this to Spurs; Luka Modric got himself injured at the beginning of the season for a couple of months and presto! In comes Niko Kranjcar from Portsmouth to cover for him. That elusive fourth spot has beome nothing short of an obsession for Spurs, Villa, Everton and from this season, Man City (sigh!). All of them have chosen different paths to try and reach the summit.

Aston Villa with Martin O'Neill's policy of predominantly buying cheap British talent almost broke the top four bastion last season. If it hadn't been for a spectacular dip in form towads the latter half of the season and THAT remember-my-face-for-a-couple-of-dacades goal by Kiko (Oh that boy!!) Macheda in the dying moments of their Old Trafford visit, Villa could well have edged Arsenal out of Champions League spots. That they fell short in spite of the heroics of Milner, Young and Agbonlahor shows just how hard it is to find your way past Arsenal and Liverpool (Don't even think of United and Chelsea here).

Everton with it's excellent bunch of academy kids and David Moyes' preference for versatility in his transfer targets have been there and thereabouts since they actually broke through to finish fourth in 2005-06.

Man City have kept it simple. The Real Madrid-Chelsea way. "How much for a Champions League spot?" Sparky Hughes thought he had the asnwer to it until Michael Owen popped up and in Alan Smith's frenzied words, "With his first Old Trafford goal for Machester United, makes the place erupt!". Owen also erupted a few fragile tempers in the desert and at the blink of an eye, Roberrtthhhho Manchheeeni had taken over. By the look on Sheikh Mansour's face when Peter Crouch headed past Martin Fulop, Mr. Hot Scarves doesn't seem to have the answer either. Harry Redknapp, however, has the answer, "Nothing". You simply can't buy your way to the Champions League. Atleast, not it one season. Mancini to his credit, has done a decent job on the field and in the transfer market. Adam Johnson might yet turn out to be the best piece of business City did amidst the arrivals of Tevez, Adebayor, Santa Cruz and Robinho (ha ha ha ha ha! Imagine what City, Real or Chelsea would pay to have the old Robinho back and playing in their colors!). I usually hate it when I hear people talking ill of the Middle East but after looking at the circus that the Sheikhs have converted Eastlands into, I can't help but roll my eyes and tail of with a "Well er..." when I hear stuff like, "That's why God gave them camels and not clubs to run".

Spurs, on the other hand, have gone about the job in their own way. They've bought players when they had to and at other times, have simply changed their system to raise their game. Harry Redknapp hasn't just brought success, he's brought a new way of playing to Spurs. Gone are the days when their defending used to sway from ridiculous clowns in blue and white to get-the-f***-outta-here. Michael Dawson, Sebastian Bassong, Ledley King, Assou-Ekotto and more recently, Gareth Bale have evolved into a formidable unit (just ask Chelsea and Arsenal). The midfield has a more settled feel to it with the arrival of Wilson Palacios and emergence of Tom Huddlestone. Creativity has never been their weak point and the arrival of the Croats Modric and Kranjcar has enhanced it further. Aaron lennon has truly developed into a World Class winger, what with his blistering pace and motly bag of tricks. Even patrice Evra has found it difficult to live with him. Their backup players do seem to be able to step up and deliver when needed (Did anyone know who the hell Danny Rose was till the derby??)

The work has shown in the results and they've emerged as one of the most consistent units in the EPL this season. More than Everton and Villa and certainly more than Man City and Liverpool (Ah Scousers! What has become of the team I knew, respected and despised in equal measure??), Spurs deserve their spot amongst Europe's elite. How far they can make it in the Champion's League remains to be seen. But considering the quality they have, it won't be surprising at all if they pull their weight and dump some regular European biggie in the latter stages. That's the difference between a new English team in the Champions League and a new team from some other country. The competition for the at 4th spot is so intense and the gap between the big four the next 4 has reduced significantly. Spurs won't feel out of place at all in the Champions league. They could go some distance even with their current lot. And if Harry gets to make a big splash in the transfer window, it's gonna be one hell of a Spurs outfit lining up against Real Madrid and Inter Milan in five months time.

The Curious Case of Dimitar Berbatov

He doesn’t show enough commitment to the team… He’s lazy… He’s too slow on the pitch… He doesn’t care about the team… He’s an introvert… Every catcall in the book has been heard about Manchester United’s enigmatic no.9. For a man who’s 18 months at Old Trafford have evoked such extreme reviews, Dimitar Berbatov’s Manchester United career started off on a brilliant note. The cross from near the goal line to setup Carlos Tevez for United’s first and only goal at Anfield in their 2-1 loss to Liverpool announced his arrival louder than his $30 million price tag. The deft tricks and stunning touches that had held the World in awe during his spell at White Hart Lane were expected to take Old Trafford by storm. It was supposed to be a dream combination. Wazza with his marauding, lung-bursting runs and Berba with his classic flicks and touches. 6 months later, the knives were out and the catcalls had started. The crowd was clearly not impressed with the Bulgarian’s nonchalance. The people who mattered, to their credit, made the right moves though. Sir Alex Ferguson, in spite of the presence of Carlos Tevez, continued to persist with Berbatov and Berbatov on his part, continued to put in his best.
True, he doesn’t have Ronaldo’s bag of tricks or Rooney’s level of involvement in the game or Darren Fletcher and Ji Sung Park’s work rate and this is what the fans love to watch but Berbatov has quietly gone about doing what he does best, pulling the strings from ‘the hole’. He’s a peculiar kind of player, he drops in behind the lone man and sets up attack after attack. He’s a master at reading the opposition’s defence and picking passes through them. Now it’s easy to see a Xavi Alonso or a Francesc Fabregas in this kind of a role in central midfield but Berbatov, labelled a striker, has been doing just that. Can you call him an out and out striker? Nope. He’s too slow for that simply doesn’t score enough goals. Can you call him an attacking midfielder of the Kaka, Wesley Sneijder type? Not really. The trickery is missing. Can you call him a midfield playmaker? No way! He plays too high up for that and doesn’t really drop back to help the defence. And he’s labelled a striker.
At a club like United where 20 goals per season are a pre requisite for a first choice striker, his lack of goals was always going to be a problem. Let’s face it, the guys who donned the striker role before him had an insatiable lust for goals. There was Ruud van Nistelrooy with a goals per game ratio that won’t be beaten in a few decades. There was Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, there’ll never be a man like the baby faced assassin again. There were Andy Cole and Dwight Yorke before them and more recently, Cristiano Ronaldo and Wayne Rooney. Now Berbatov will never be mentioned in the same breath as these names when it comes to pure goal scoring instinct. So it was only natural that the crowd would run out of patience with him soon. Not that they don’t like anyone other than the most absurdly talented bunch of players named above. Lesser talented men like Park Ji Sung have become Old Trafford favourites simply because of their sheer determination and work rate. Any United fan would swear by his life that Park would die trying rather than give up. And they adore him for that. Now why don’t they like Berbatov the way they like Park? It’s the man’s demeanour. He’s emotionless, he doesn’t show commitment, the whole list of catcalls start all over again. Now, the fans seeing only the visible side of Berbatov and the club seeing only his visible side are two entirely different issues. Surely, a man of Sir Alex Ferguson’s experience would’ve known what Berbatov was all about before getting on Juande Ramos’ nerves and stretching them right to the limit before landing his striker on transfer deadline day. And amidst all the calls to drop Berba and play Tevez, Sir Alex would surely have known the value of the man he was being urged to axe. True, he stuck it out with Berba and gave him enough chances though it led to the eventual transfer of Carlos Tevez.
Now into his second season at Old Trafford, where does all this leave Berbatov? First choice striker alongside Wayne Rooney. But then, with Michael Owen as the backup striker and the other options being the untested Mame Biram Diouf and teenagers Danny Welbeck and Federico Macheda, you would expect Berbatov to be Rooney’s undisputed strike partner. But is he really? A comparison of the number of games played by United no.9 and 10 say an entirely different story. Rooney has not just emerged from Ronaldo’s shadow, he’s grown into a talisman, he’s Mr.United. The best striker in the World at the moment (ok Blaugrana, I’m a United fan). And Berbatov, has shrunk in comparison. A look at the contributions of support strikers in the big teams across Europe show Berbatov is not Rooney’s partner but backup. Chelsea: Nicolas Anelka has played every match against the top 5-6 clubs in the EPL and in the Champion’s League. Liverpool and Arsenal: They always play the lone man up front to pack up the midfield but in Arsenal’s case, either Nicklas Bendtner or Eduardo partnered Robin Van Persie in attack on most occasions before the Dutch hitman pulled up for the season. Barcelona: La Liga, Copa Del Ray, Champions League, whatever be the tournament, Pep Guardiola’s juggernaut rumbles on without compromising on 3 men up front. It’s only a question of whether to play Thierry Henry or Pedro Rodriguez. And that’s more of a transition than anything else.Real Madrid: Apart from El Ron, they always Raul or Benzema alongside Higuain. Rarely is it Ronaldo and Higuain alone. Atletico: Aguero, Forlan and 9 others. Every match, every tournament. Inter Milan: Jose Mourinho’s carefully assembled outfit rolls with an intimidating striking line up of Samuel Eto’o, Diego Milito, Goran Pandev and Wesley Sneijder these days. It’s the same line up whether they’re playing Catania or Chelsea. AC Milan: For all the talk about Leonardo’s team being packed with pensioners, they continue to play an attacking brand of football with Pato, Ronaldinho and either Huntelaar or Boriello playing up front. And the number of strikers didn’t drop even when facing United at Old Trafford (That they got walloped is for another day).Bayern Munich: Two of Mario Gomez, Miroslav Klose and Thomas Muller line up every match.And United? Rooney and Berbatov against Blackburn, Hull, Wolves, Portsmouth, Wolfsburg and Sunderland. Rooney all alone against Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool, Barcelona, CSKA Moscow, AC Milan, Manchester City, Everton and Aston Villa. If a player, after moving to a top club for a record transfer fee, doesn’t get to play the matches that really define a top club, was it really worth moving in the first place? Would Berbatov feel more happy sitting on the bench in all the Champions League knock out round matches, play 20 minutes a match and pick up a Champions League winners’ medal? Or would he have been better off staying at White Hart Lane as Spurs’ frontline striker, play every match of the season, compete for a top four finish, lead his team to the Champions League and line up against the likes of Ronaldo, Messi and Pato? Needless to say, he would’ve been Harry Redknapp’s first name on the team list if he had stayed at Spurs. A lot of strikers have moved in and out of White Hart Lane after Berbatov but one can safely assume that he would’ve been partnering Jermain Defoe up front in every match, had he stayed there. Looking at the way things are turning out for Spurs this season, they’re primed for a top four finish, meaning Champions League football next season. Jermain Defoe will line up next to Peter Crouch or Roman Pavlyuchenko against the best of Europe while Berbatov will warm the bench and watch Rooney play all alone. With Sir Alex Ferguson repeating it often these days that the 80 million pounds received for Ronaldo’s transfer is burning a hole in his wallet, it might well be the case that a certain big name striker from Valencia might find his way to Old Trafford. And that, would effectively mean the end of Berbatov’s stay at United. But even if there is no significant addition of strikers to United’s roster next season, is the no.9 jersey and a spot on the bench in the big games, really worth it for Berbatov? It’s going to be an interesting phase from now till the end of the end of the summer transfer window for United and Berbatov. Whether it’s a window of opportunity for Berbatov or a window to splash in for United, remains to be seen.

How does it feel...

How does it feel when...

U know it's ur friend's birthday
And the friend is important in a very special way

U know u have to call and wish
And do something other than the usual cliche

U know u have to make it crazy
And not sit around like a pig so lazy

U even know what to do
And make it a day that saw us start anew

U know u wanna do this more than any of the million assignments lighting a stove under ur backside
And get that delightful feeling of having followed ur heart,

U know u can make this happen
And make up for all that happened when u were smitten

U know it's the presence of those memories that's making u float
And making your heart swell

U know this is the one thing u'll wanna do that day
if that's all u can do that day
and it's ur last day on earth

And then u realize...

The friend is important in a special way
But she would tear u apart if she could find a way

U have to do something other than the usual cliche
But trying to do even that is making you say "How I wish..."

U shouldn't sit around like a lazy pig
But if u did anything more, u'll be the lady's nasty li'l bug

U want to make it a day that saw you start Anew
But within a minute of you logging in to Facebook, she disappears as if on cue

U want that delightful feeling of having followed your heart
But doing just that is what has led to this fateful part

U want make up for all that happened
But even a word about it can bring the universe crashing down

U want this to be the last thing you do if that day is to be THE day
But realize you might not get to do it even till your eventual day of reckoning...

How does it feel?

I was there...

The end of the cricket fan in me began on the 10th of November 2008 when the man who defined cricket to me walked out on to the field in whites for the last time. He is a bigger God to me than he is to Bongs. I still remember that day in 1996, when I was sitting in my room studying, with my Dad listening to BBC's inimitable commentary on the radio. Not having cable TV at home meant I never saw much cricket before that. But that day, my Dad, having seen a bit of the match at work, was so intrigued by the rock solid technique of a wiry young debutant named Rahul Dravid that he felt compelled to tune in to BBC. Infuriatingly slow at accumulating runs, the kid was showing quite a lot of character facing the British quicks at Lord's. Little did he notice the other debutant steadily progressing towards a century on debut. Li'l did my Dad know how much his son would go on to worship the latter debutant, Sourav Ganguly.
Dada, Dravid, Sachin and Jumbo... these guys were the broad definition of cricket to me. One can argue that the game is bigger than players but these guys took the game to a such a level that it was impossible to envision the game without these stalwarts. They were not just outrageously talented, they were legends. Seldom has the game seen men trying harder than Kumble and Dravid have. Seldom has the game seen a bigger statesman that Dada. And the game has never seen and will never see anyone like Sachin. It's rude to try and describe him.
As they grew older, the squad began to get a younger a look. Men walked out and boys walked in. These boys were nothing like the two that debuted in 1996. Neither were they like the one that debuted in 1989. Somehow it was hard to pray for a win when I saw them walk out on to the field. Neither was it easy too feel proud of my national team when one of the 'boys' gyrated his hips on the pitch after whacking Andre Nel for a six or one of them called Andrew Symonds a monkey. To put it simply, I lost interest in the game. What kept me stuck to the game even then, was the presence of the Big 4. So when Dada and Jumbo decided to call it quits within a week of each other, it was, literally, the end of the cricket fan in me. Dravid was already out of the ODI squad. The Men In Blue simply lost their charm inspite of winning more trophies lately.
A year passed by, I moved from Coimbatore to Mysore and then to Amdavad. My interest in the game dropped by the day. All that remained in the shorter version of the game (the shortest one isn't even worth mentioning here) was one man. And that man, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, in 3 hours of business-as-usual (by his standards) showed me there's still something for me to savour in this game. Atleast until he walks into the sunset.
24th Feb 2010....
The nation stood still. A billion hearts swelled with one question, "Is this the moment?". It's not that he had anything to prove to anyone, he's beyond all such human idiosyncracies. Just that no one else deserved it as much as he does.
Rewind back 4 years and after a long time, I was happy to see a guy from Tamil Nadu making making a mark for the national side. Dinesh Karthik, after his baptism by fire against Australia in Nagpur was settling into the side slowly. I was so overjoyed when Greg Chappell in his leaked text message or mail or whatever to the BCCI, said that DK was captaincy material. I thought there was someone I could follow after Dada retired. Then came Dhoni and out went Karthik. I've been following every one of his numerous comebacks into the national side.
So on 24th Feb, as Karthik, in the shadow of the master, effortlessly dismantled the Proteas' pace attack, I sat there eagerly awaiting a long due maiden century from his willow. As fate would have it, DK holed out to mid wicket on 80 and flufffed a great opportunity to cement his place in the side. Sachin had moved past 120 by then but then Sachin scoring a century is not exactly new to us so I didn't bother watching the match anymore and just left. A guy who was sitting next to me in the community centre was telling his friend about how this is the best chance for Sachin to get to the magic number. I looked at the scorecard. There were 14 overs left and Sachin was still about 75 runs off the mark. No way. Not happening today. I left.
About an hour later I checked the score on Cricinfo... Sachin: 196* (46 overs)
It was happening!! The God of all religions was at his furious best!
There was an immediate urge to get up, run like mad and slump in front of the TV in the community centre. A small voice said he'll make it before I reach and that it'll be pointless. I was a fraction of a second away from heeding that voice when another asked Would you give it a go or let the moment slip?
My slippers were 3 feet away. Too far off, forget it. RUN!! Past Palaash, past the Baddy court and up the stairs. As I neared the stairs, I saw another guy running up the stairs. It was pointless asking him what the hurry was, I just said "196" to him, and scampered up the stairs. The sight that greeted me in the community centre is one that'll be an enduring memory of MICA. There must've been atleast a 100 guys in there. Sitting on everything from steps to chess boards. It was like a Vatican convention before the big announcement. The noise level was unbelievable. The energy level was out of the World. It was a war zone. I ran in and crashed next to my guys. One of them challenged me to switch off the TV at that moment...
I stared at him and thought about a moment a couple of weeks back. It was AC Milan vs Manchester United and some 15-20 avid footie fans were watching the match. I had had a nightmare of a time before that and I was just slumped in my chair watching the match. I was so crestfallen at the state of things that I felt not even a United victory could cheer me up. But like I said in Facebook after the match, "...No matter how big your sorrows are, no matter how much excruciating your pain is, no matter how deep the pit of sadness in your stomach is, when you see Darren Fletcher float the ball into the box and Rooney hoodwinks Alessandro Nesta to head it past Dida, you just HAVE to jump up and scream in joy! The tears in your eyes have nothing to do with your sadness! Glory Glory Man United!". So as Rooney jumped up to head it past Dida, I jumped up with him, my hands thrown in the air. So much was my joy that I forgot I was holding the remote in my hand and pumped my fist so hand that I changed the channel by mistake. The reaction from the 15 guys was like what one would see from a group of Milanese fans towards a Red Devil when Rooney scored. Now if I did that when Sachin was on 196... I wondered whether I'd be cremated or buried. No thanks mate, I'll take you money some other day.
After all that running I did to make it in time, Dhoni took over. For three overs, he showed the proteas stars in the high noon. Some 50 runs were plunderd in those 3 overs. And Sachin, amidst the carnage, moved to 199. Those 3 overs also witnessed something unreal. Every time the bowler steamed in to bowl to Dhoni, the crowd had one thing on their lips 'Single le saale!' except on the last ball of the over. Every time he played an outrageous shot to whack the ball out of\f the park, the room reverberated with expletives I dare not mention here for fear of my Dad reading this :) There were more than a few shouts of "Resign kar saale kaminey!".
Off the first ball of the last over, he worked it past extra cover and the ball looked destined to cross the ropes. The flow of expletives intensified. Out of nowhere, the unmistakable , bearded figure of Hashim Amla flashed into the screen and stopped a certain boundary. The crowd clapped and cheered him like he was one of our own! Finally, Sachin on strike, 199*. One run away from creating history. Dale Steyn ran and a billion people ran in with him. Wide outside off stump, full delivery. Sachin reached out, put bat to ball and guided it past point.... and delirium!!! Gwalior erupted. So did MICA. So did a million drawing rooms and street-side wide screens across the country. The frontier had been scaled. And who else but Sachin to do it! "Saachiiiiiiiiiiiin Saachin" filled the eentire community centre. Amidst mexican waves and bumps to Sachin Sharma, the crowd paid homage to the master in it's owwn way. Amidst the madness that he had sparked off across the country, Sachin... stood tall. The helmet came off, the trademark life of the helmet and the bat with his face towards the skies greeted the new World. What was he thinking as he looked up? Was he plotting yet another chapter in a story that's run for 20 years? Or was he crying, like Alexander did in Babylon after conquering the World? Looking at the man that he's been for the past 2 decades, he was probably saying, "Hona ta, to ho gaya". The humility of the man in the face of his 'adjective-less' achievements is mind-blowing.
200*. So it stood till the end off the match. And so it shall stand till the end of time. For the World has never seen, and will never ever see a man like Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar ever again. So after I'm long gone, may I be known as the man who lived by his rules,worshipped Cristiano Ronaldo, brought happiness to a million lives with his writings, looked up to the red jersey of Mannchester United like it was his own, made a million bucks, grew crazy as a loon thanks to Sunshine, and more than all these, lived in the era when Gods walked the Earth. When Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar walked the Earth. And made it a better place to live for a billion people.
I was there...

Defence Conundrum

Theo Walcott zoomed across the face of goal, dragging Vidic with him and opening the floodgates for Samir Nasri to fire in anger and put his and Arsenal's second past United at The Emirates. 2-0. Game over. If that was a low moment, then li'l Rafael Da Silva's stunner of a first ever goal for United salvaged some pride. But what really set things straight was the next 14 games. United's defence, in simple terms, shut shop. Not an earthworm could swirm through. Not even the ghosts of some of the best strikers in the World could sneak past the walls. Rio Ferdinand's words in a Nike ad "Let no man pass" was a reality on the pitch. Rio and Vidic flanked by Evra, Rafael and O'Shea were a force that no team could stand up to, for 14 matches at a stretch. It was a total black out. Finally it took a great strike by Roque Santa Cruz to breach United's wall and a lucky goal by Loevenkrantz to finally put one past Van Der Sar. It was the platform on which United dared to dream of collecting 7 trophies. They pulled upshort at the last step on two occasions but last season's defence was a phenomenon rarely witnessed before. Vidic was performing in a parallel universe where strikers were persona non grata.

Fast forward to now...

Rio Ferdinand: Has stumbled from one injury to another
Vidic: Exactly what's his injury? Marginally better than Rio in terms of appearances but nothing to write home about
Yet to play in central defence along side each other since early November
O'Shea: Miserable season that reads Captaincy-injury-comeback-injury-comeback-Henry'ed in Paris - injured-Out for the season
Neville: At 35, it's hardly the time for him to get injured every month, get back on the field without full fitness and get injured again
Evans: Looks like Alice in Wonderland without Vidic or Rio to guide him. Has showed his immense talent but when faced with strong opposition, he's wilted under the pressure. Everton and AC Milan come to mind immediately
Brown: Let's face it, he's never gonna be United's first choice centre back EVER. Has been an able deputy all season but he's no Vidic
Rafael: Seems to be getting into the Marcelo mode. Great when bombing forward. Remember Wigan? But seems to lose his head when defending against World class wingers. Ronaldinho skinned him too many times though he stood upto 'Dinho bravely. But then, he's 19, he's certainly on his way to donning the no.2 jersey
Evra: Captain courageous! Has ANYbody played more minutes than him this season?? Every match, every competition, every weekend and midweek, the pint sized Frenchman's been a livewire down that wing. The rock in the defence. Counting down to the reserves, we had 9 defenders injured at a point of time and still he was up and kicking. Deserves the armband.
De Laet, Fabio: Ask me this time season after next

Within a span of one year, United's defence has gone from being the best in the World to the most chaotic unit in the team. Injuries have wreaked havoc and transfer speculations have done their bit to lower the already drooping morale. The central defensive pair that had as much a hand in last season's successes as El Ron is barely recognizable this season. Carrick, Flethcer, De Laet, Giggs, everyone and their cousins from Mars have played defenders this season. Last time Fergie could pick his first choice defenders was against Liverpool in early November or October. Since then it's been a patch up job of unseen proportions. The bench has become a field hospital. Instances of defenders breaking down right before kickoff hardly seem to surprise people these days. It's become so bloody common! Rio, at 31, and his back, at 62, seem to be past the days of playing week in week out for club and country. Even if he is to make a full recovery, it'll be hard for him to play more than 3-4 matches at a stretch. Vidic, if he can get over his personal issues and mysterious injuries, can still give 3-4 prime seasons before getting intot eh Rio-mode but there's a huge question mark hanging over that at the moment. And if reports of his family's inability to settle in England are to be believed then I don't think Barca or Real Madrid will think twice before giving United a blank cheque for the Serb.
Johnny Evans is at least a season away from playing week in week out as United's no.5. he's shown his potential but the rawness of the 22 year old is there for all to see. He needs some serious tutelage under Rio and Vidic. Wes Brown... will be Wes Brown till he retires as the man who served United whenever they were without their first choice defenders. Nothing much different can be said about John O'Shea. So where does that leave United?
Nightmare scenario: Rio continues the way he is, now. Vidic does the same as Rio or worse, leaves for Spain/Italy.
It leaves United with 20-25 million in cash, one good, young central defender on his way to greatness but not there yet, one awesome but crocked England captain, and Wes Brown. And Chris Smalling. If his performance against Chelsea for Fulham are anything to go buy, Fergie's pulled off a coup by signing the kid for 7 mil. But he'll have to be monitored for atleast 6 months before blooding him full time. And it'll be a ridiculous risk playing a 20 year old and a 22 year old in central defence. Add Rafael to that and we might as well ask Paul McGuinness to move his academy to Old Trafford.
Bottomline: If Vidic and/or Ferdidand are gonna be like this next season, we're in God almighty trouble. We need a defender.

Who?
Fergie's favourite Simon Klaer:
Plus: Totally in the Vidic mode. Rock solid.
Minus: He's younger than Jonny Evans. Hard to see him leading United's defensive line. Sergio Ramos, inspite of having been a teenage prodigy is struggling to do it at Real. Will be a huge ask if Kjaer is pulled up to lead the line.

Mamadou Sakho:
Plus: Has plied his trade in the French league so naturally fast and physical too. On the brink of breaking into Raymond Domenech’s squad

Minus: Same as Kjaer. Lack of experience. Haven’t seen much of him in the Champions League so whether he can perform at the top level remains to be seen.

Gary Cahill:

Plus: Proven performer. Right age to make the big move. Has earned his salt under some of the hardest task masters in the league. Has earned a national team call up as well. Covetous glances from Chelsea and Juventus mean he’s someone to be looked at seriously

My 2 cents:

Branislav Ivanovic:

Chelsea’s unsung Player of the Season. Whether at centre back or right back, the Serb has been sensational. He’s been no slouch whether it is at getting into rough tackles or bombing forward – he’s matched Ashley Cole at that, which is REALLY something. His performance in last year’s Champions League double headers against Liverpool was a joy to behold. Definitely, a wasted talent at Chelsea, as second choice to Bosingwa and Ricardo Carvalho.

Bruno Alves:

The bedrock of Portugal’s defence, Alves has risen fast to become one of the best centre backs in Europe. It’s only a matter of time before the biggies of Europe come calling on him so if United want a World class centre back and are ready to shell out $20 million or above then we better move fast on him.

Ryan Shawcross:

The one that got away. Just where was Fergie’s eye for talent when he let the gangling youngster leave for Stoke? The Potters’ captain has fast risen to being one of the best young defenders in the league and has earned a maiden call up to Capello’s squad. That he plies his trade under Tony Pulis means he’s a tough no-nonsense defender. His horrendous tackle on Aaron Ramsey –albeit unintentional- shows he’s not loathe to get into crunching tackles. Will be one hell of a buy for $12m but considering we could’ve had him for free, it’s a transfer long overdue.

Rabbit out of the hat: The Fergie-Ole way. Get someone whose name will have to be looked up by the media… till he makes an all too familiar Old Trafford debut. Vegard Forren from Ole’s old club probably….

In Memory of A Udhaya Shankar: Rest in peace, my brother

The breeze from the south, blew past my abode,
Bringing with it, the scent of a time so cold;
Throwing the curtains out of fold,
Throwing my long tombed memories out of hold.

A year and another past that fateful night,
An eternity into the insufferable blight,
A lifetime, since you took flight,
Forever, since it shone so bright.

Rest in peace, my brother...

In memory of A.Udhaya Shankar
Born: 9/12/1987
Left us: 24/1/2008

Torture RACk

I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
I’ll never leave my travel unplanned till all hell freezes around my a***
No I didn’t copy paste that. I deserve typing down every letter of that self induced punishment. It started off pretty innocuously. Just another train trip. Usually it’s from Coimbatore to Chennai but this time it was to Bangalore. Same distance, night train, fair enough. Little did I know what RAC was gonna throw at me. I’ve had one bad experience of travelling in trains that reach Coimbatore after travelling thru ‘ God’s Own Country ’. If that was er... interesting then this was friggin mad. RAC’s a bloody torture RACk!
I tell my Dad late that my travel will have to be postponed by a day. Tickets: unavailable of course! Strike one.
I’m RAC number 13 on Island Express. 4 weeks of nerve-wracking wait later Didi’s department confirms my ticket. S9/16.
Now, 16, what does that mean? Side upper. What does that mean to a 6’1” guy? Friggin pain in the a***. And knee and neck and ankle as I’m starting to learn slowly. Strike two.
Thanks to Nitish and Laloo over the last 10 years, my train arrives on time! I get in and what do I find in S9/16? Sleeping-like-a-log incarnate of Swami Ayyappa on his way to God-Knows-Where in Karnataka from Shabarimala.
Swami, that’s my berth.
Show me your ticket.
Here. it’s S9/16. Get off my berth.
The roughneck in Dad, whose eruption times I’m yet to decipher after 21 long years, gets all aggressive and noisy outta nowhere.
Dad, wait! Let him get off!
Swami descends from S9/Shabarimala slowly. Outta thin air, more Swamis emerge to surround the TTR who has arrived as well. The black shirts, ear-wax-like stink and hair like the strands on a mopper used to clean Shabarimala, I could identify them by the little islands they had formed for themselves on the floor of island Express. Apparently, none of them had bothered to bother Didi’s reservation Dept. before boarding the train. After all, God has His privileges. And so do His minions. One of them proceeds to try n slip a Rs. 50 note into the TTR’s hands.
50? Fifty bucks?? Has God driven you that insane mate?? This guy’s a TTR! The guy who cleans the drain in front of my place takes more than 50 bucks!
Quite unsurprisingly, the TTR boots them out n finally summit S9/16 is mine. But Swami won’t take his things off my berth. He wants more time to go find some place where he can form an island for himself. I’ve already talked to the guy in S9/15 to swap berths with me so that I can avoid the misery of spending the whole night shifting around in the elf-sized berth. The guy looked like a Goblin so 16 was perfect for him.
Now things get nasty. All the Swamis converge on the TTR and ask him for berths. He tries - first diplomatically and then literally – to ask them to f*** off. The Swamis decide that any train from God’s Own Country is their own (They’re God’s minions, see?) and presto! Within 5 minutes, S9 has about 15 Swami islands impeding one and all from moving. Strike Three.
Mr. Benevolent Goblin and Your’s Truly are the only guys awake apart from the Swamis and the thoroughly frustrated TTR. Swamis start ranting about the TTR to us
Third Class TTR... 300 rupees vaangeeetu vezhiya poga solludhu... No one responsibility (Say what???)... [Some tosh in a language I can’t understand]... I have ticket sir... [More tosh in that language I can’t understand]...
Awright, my summit may be pint-sized but it was safe, so thanks Mr. Goblin but I guess I’ll prefer a sleepless miserable night over a watch-over-my-a***-every-other-minute miserable night. So up I go. After all the drama, S9/16 it is.
16! What is it with me and 16! Screwin around with my head ever since coll!
I so hoped the night was over. Then we reached Erode. What’s it with this li’l town? Is it the people or a Tom Roddle like jinx that keeps it’s fetish for trouble so fresh and insatiable?
TTR arrives and decides enough is enough. Yeah, this guy is the exception that proves that rule that every Govt. employee is shite.
Call the RPF. Get out now or I’m getting ur a*** whipped by RPF. Get up all of u! Off to unreserved! Now!!
No divine intervention struck down the TTR as His minions marched off to the Unreserved compartment. Enough... was finally enough!
I got back to my cramped berth and aforementioned sleepless, miserable night.
So why am I going on and on about it? I’ve got 72 more minutes to waste before GoAir takes pity on me and opens the check-in counter. And BIAL’s been benevolent enough to provide me with free internet. But the main reason...? What the hell I’m just plain jobless! :D